


Trust (Or Two Times Coulson Trusted Clint's Instincts and One Time Clint Trusted Coulson's)

by DiaryofaWriter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiaryofaWriter/pseuds/DiaryofaWriter





	1. A New Asset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silvergryphon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvergryphon/gifts).



"Do you have the target in sight, Agent Barton?"

"That's an affirmative, Boss," Clint said in a low voice, keeping his hands steady as he aimed the deadly arrow. "She's got quite an ass, I'll give her that much."

"We're not here to sightsee, Barton," Agent Phil Coulson's voice was professional and cool as ever, but Clint could still hear the undertone of amusement in the way his handler said his name. "Besides, I thought redheads weren't exactly your cup of tea."

"Hey, turn the lights off and it doesn't matter what color their hair is," Clint snipped back with a grin.

Night was falling over the city of Kiev, and already Clint could feel the cold starting to work its way through his gloves and thick coat. Well, that was going to be just fantastic. The last thing he wanted was to have his fingers seize up on him in the middle of this mission.

"There any chance our next mission could be somewhere warm and pleasant, boss?" he groused under his breath.

"I'll take it under advisement, Barton," Coulson said blandly. "For now, focus on the target.

Huffing in mild frustration, Clint watched his breath form a soft cloud just in front of his face for a moment before he turned his gaze back to the sight he had added to his bow. Through the sight he could see into the apartment of the woman that SHIELD had sent him to take out. Black Widow, as she was called, was a dangerous assassin who had begun working for the Soviet Union long before Clint had been born. Some people suspected that the title was a legacy passed from one person to the next, but others thought that the Black Widow was really one woman who just didn't age. Given the weird shit he had been exposed to since joining SHIELD, Clint was willing to believe either theory. 

The reason that Clint had been sent after her now was that for the first time in years, SHIELD actually had reliable information about the location of the Black Widow _before_ she took out her target. Wanting the threat of the Widow taken out before any more innocent lives were lost, Fury had turned to his best handler and assassin team and sent them to Kiev. That had been nearly twenty-four hours ago. Since they had arrived, Clint had barely moved from his spot across the street from the Widow's current address, huddled on the roof of the building with nothing but his coat and gloves to keep the growing chill away. 

_At least Fury didn't send us here in the dead of winter,_ Clint thought to himself. "Fuck, it's cold," he mumbled out loud.

"Focus, Barton," Coulson retorted, though his tone was far from unkind. "And we'll get you some coffee or something later to get you warmed up."

"That a promise, Boss?" Clint teased, his tone almost flirtatious.

"Maybe," was all that Coulson said in reply, though there was something about his voice that sent a shudder through Clint's spine.

He hastily shook his head to clear it and looked through the sight on his bow again. Still no clear shot, and he had _definitely_ not heard anything remotely like husky longing in Coulson's voice. That just wasn't possible. 

Clint had been working with Coulson for nearly four years, and in that time their relationship had been nothing but professional. Coulson was the perfect SHIELD agent, as far as Clint had seen; he never had any outside relationships that anyone knew about, and he never got emotionally compromised. As far as Clint knew, Coulson didn't even have any family that he was still in contact with. If he had any romantic relationships inside of SHIELD, no one was talking about it, and the generally accepted theory was that either Coulson was asexual, or he was a robot who did a damn good job of looking and acting human. Most people had money on the robot theory; even Clint had to admit that he could see why people would believe that. As much as he liked Coulson as a person and a handler, he was a terribly intimidating person, and Clint had never seen his handler laugh at anyone's jokes apart from his own.

Still, Clint couldn't deny that he had grown fond of his handler. Not just fond of him, now that Clint stopped to actually think about it; he was also attracted to Coulson. Who could blame him, really? Phil Coulson might be a lot older than Clint, and he might not be what a lot of people would classify as "hot", but he had his own charms. Like the way he would smile-- _really_ smile--when Clint made a particularly corny joke, and his eyes would crinkle in the corners and his lips would barely curl upwards in the corner. Or there was the way he could always tell when Clint was hiding in the air vents at SHIELD headquarters, but wouldn't say anything until after he'd filed all of Clint's paperwork for him. There were a thousand little things that had made Clint first respect Coulson, and then with time grow to love him.

_Fuck, I'm in deep,_ Clint thought darkly as he tried to focus on his current mission.

Across the street, moving with the grace of a dancer, Black Widow didn't even realize that her life now hung in the balance. She wasn't aware that if she moved just two steps in one direction or another, an arrow would fly through her window and lodge itself in her throat. Clint was grateful that she didn't know he was there, because it made the kill that much easier. 

He didn't claim to be an angel, or even on the side of the angels. In his life, Clint Barton had done things he wasn't proud of, but he'd always done what he knew he had to in order to survive. When he became an assassin, that was to keep himself alive when no other work would have suited him. After all, what business would give a good paying desk job to a kid who never went to high school, ran away to join the circus as a kid, and couldn't do anything but basic arithmetic? The only thing Clint had known how to do was keep himself out of sight and shoot an arrow well enough to ensure that whoever was at the other end didn't make it out alive. The only reason he was anything close to a good guy these days was because SHIELD had decided that his skills were too useful to have him taken out.

"Anything yet, Barton?" Coulson asked in a low voice.

There was that shiver that really had no place in this sort of setting again. Clint cursed mentally as he adjusted his position slightly so that his left knee was no longer falling asleep. "She's sitting in a bad spot for me to try and make the shot, Boss," he said slowly. "I need her to move to the left or right before I can call it."

Clint could swear that he could hear Coulson swear on the other end of the radio, but that couldn't be the case, because Coulson didn't swear when they were in the middle of a mission like this.

"Keep me updated," Coulson sighed, sounding as tired as Clint felt.

After answering in the affirmative, Clint slowly eased two arrows out of his quiver, setting them on the cold concrete of the roof beside his knee where he could easily grab them. He didn't dare aim his bow yet, when he didn't know how long it would take before Black Widow moved to the perfect position.

Speaking of the Black Widow, she was a very pretty woman, now that he actually got a look at her. SHIELD's information on the Widow had been sparse at best, with no recent photographs to give them an idea of what she looked like. Part of why Clint had been observing the apartment for so long was to ensure that the woman that he was watching _was_ really the Black Widow. He'd been able to tell Coulson for certain that the woman in question was their intended target when he'd seen the cache of weapons she had opened inside of her oven. That was an idea he was going to have to borrow from her.

The woman that Clint now knew to be the Black Widow looked too young to have been alive since the early days of Soviet Russia, with a face that was deceptively soft and sweet in appearance. Her bright red hair could only be the result of some sort of dye, but it suited her porcelain complexion well enough. Currently her hair was down and long in tight curls that gave her an almost untamed look about her. She moved with the controlled grace that Clint had only seen in other spies or professional dancers. It was clear that she knew every inch of her body perfectly, and had made it into a precise and deadly weapon over the years. Clint's earlier comment about her round backside was not entirely out of line, since she was remarkably fit and curved in all the right ways. It was almost a shame to have to kill such a beautiful woman, but Clint knew he couldn't let a pretty face distract him from the mission objective.

Watching his target closely, Clint found himself observing her for some sign of the woman behind the cold killer that SHIELD had been hunting for years. She was very controlled, even in the supposed safety of her own apartment, but every now and then Clint could swear that he saw a flicker of something beyond her impassive façade. It wasn't much, but the fact that it was visible to begin with was enough for Clint to keep trying to see more of that flicker.

Hours passed as Clint continued to watch his target, noticing tiny things about her that filled him with doubt about the rightness of the mission to kill her. It wasn't anything substantial; just the way she would pause over a story in the newspaper with a frown or curl up so that her feet were tucked under her body as she read. There was just a sense of vulnerability to this woman that made Clint think twice about loosing an arrow and killing her.

"Boss?" Clint said slowly into his radio, slowly slipping his arrows back into his quiver.

"What is it, Barton?" Coulson asked, his tone clipped and to the point. "Has she spotted you?"

"No, Coulson," Clint said hastily. "You know I'm too good for that to happen. I don't know what it is; I just think I'm starting to root for this woman."

For almost a full five minutes, all Clint could hear over his radio was static. Maybe he had been wrong to make this call. Coulson must be furious with him for even saying it to begin with. He'd have to get a new handler when they got back to SHIELD…

"Are you sure about this, Barton?"

Clint was so surprised to hear Coulson's voice that he couldn't bring himself to answer for another minute or two. Coulson must have thought Clint had thrown his radio away or something like that, because he spoke up again.

"Clint? Are you there?"

Tonight was just full of surprises, it seemed. Clint couldn't remember the last time Coulson had actually called him by his first name, if he ever had.

"I'm still here, Boss," he muttered into the radio. "Y-yeah, I'm sure about this."

Coulson sighed heavily on the other end of their call, and Clint could just imagine his handler running a hand over his forehead. "You'd better be right about this, Clint," he muttered. "Do you want us to go in and try and get her to join SHIELD?"

"No, Coulson," Clint said with a weak smile. "I'll take care of this. It's my call, after all. And that way, if she turns down the offer, I can finish the mission."

****************

Phil Coulson rarely felt at a loss for words. He was good at his job, and he enjoyed it a great deal, especially working with Clint Barton. One thing that he could certainly say for certain about working with Barton was that he was never bored. When he had been assigned to the Black Widow mission with Clint, Phil had been sure that it would be a very interesting one, to say the least. What he _hadn't_ anticipated was Clint asking to call off the mission.

_"I don't know what it is; I just think I'm starting to root for this woman."_

What made him think that, Phil couldn't help wondering. Of course, he could always _ask_ Clint, but that would possibly lead to some rather awkward moments when Clint demanded to know why Phil cared in the first place. That was a question that even Phil had a hard time answering for himself. He had tried to keep his relationship with Clint perfectly professional in the four years they had been working together, but there was just something about Clint that made that very difficult.

For one thing, Clint didn't seem to know the definition of the word "professional". He was always mouthing off to his superiors, cracking jokes over the radio at the worst times, or semi-flirting with Phil. It was the last one that gave Phil the most trouble. If he could know for certain one way or another if Clint actually _meant_ to be flirtatious with him, then it would make it that much easier for him to deal with it. What certainly didn't help was how very handsome Clint was, with those boyish blue eyes, that roguish half-smirk, and those toned arms made by God himself to work a bow.

Phil had been trying to deal with his growing attraction to the archer for a long time now, and it was just getting harder and harder with every passing day. Not only that, but now Clint was facing a dangerous assassin with the intention of trying to get her to defect to SHIELD. If Clint didn't succeed, he could be at risk, and that thought made Phil's chest grow tight whenever he paused to consider it. He didn't want to have to fill out the paperwork for _that_.

Later, Phil would deny that he had been pacing or that he had been waiting just beyond the door of the safehouse that he and Clint were using as a base of operations. In the moment, he couldn't think beyond the moment when Clint would or would not walk through that door. When it finally did open to reveal, not just Clint, but also the infamous Black Widow, Phil couldn't tell if he was more relieved or wary.

"Hey, boss," Clint greeted with a half smile. "She followed me home. Can I keep her?"

That was when Phil walked towards Clint, coming to stand directly in front of him in two large strides, and taking the younger man's face in his hands. Before either man could process what had just happened, Phil had pressed his lips against Clint's urgently, his eyes closed tightly as he let his relief at Clint's survival flow from him into the kiss. To his great surprise, Clint dropped his bow with a clatter and responded eagerly to the kiss, his hands coming up to grip the lapels of Phil's suit jacket.

"…Well," the Black Widow commented idly, her Russian accent almost imperceptible. "I think I'm going to like working with SHIELD."


	2. Visitors From Asgard

Clint yawned to himself as he slowly woke up from his nap in the front seat of the car SHIELD had given both him and Phil to take them to New Mexico. To his surprise, he found that the car was stopped at a gas station, and Phil wasn't standing anywhere near the car. Where could he be? 

_Well, it's been a long drive,_ he thought with a wry smile. _He might've needed a pit stop._

Stretching out with another yawn, Clint settled back to wait for his handler/boyfriend. It was a little odd thinking of Phil and the word "boyfriend" being in the same sentence, but in a good way. Of course, neither of them had actively used that term to describe their relationship, but it was sort of an accepted truth between the two of them. 

Ever since the mission that had ended with Natasha Romanov joining SHIELD, practically everyone in the agency had noticed the change in Clint's relationship with his handler. Thankfully, no one had made a huge deal out of it, not even Fury. Natasha would tease the two of them about it, but there was nothing but affection behind her little taunts and barbs. A few other agents would make little snarky comments about Phil showing favoritism towards Clint, but whenever that happened Phil would threaten the other agents with one of two things; Fury's wrath or additional paperwork. Both threats were highly effective, and so the teasing had grown less frequent with time.

Clint's thoughts were interrupted as Phil stepped into the car, tossing two packages of mini donuts onto Clint's lap.

"Ooh!" Clint exclaimed with almost childlike enthusiasm. "You got me sugar? You really do care, Boss."

Phil flashed a slight smile at Clint--the one that was mostly in his eyes rather than in the way his lips curved upwards--and shrugged lightly. "Well, you seemed to be running low on energy. Figured you could use a bit of extra fuel since I was already making a pit stop."

"You're adorable when you're trying to be all unconcerned about me," Clint teased with a grin at Phil. "What do I have to do to make up for this?"

"Nothing at all," Phil retorted as he started up the car again, easing them out of the gas station. "I wanted to get you something to snack on."

Smiling to himself as he opened one of the donut packages, Clint glanced over at Phil, just enjoying watching the older man. It had been nearly five years since the night they had shared their first kiss, and Clint still couldn't believe how lucky he was. Phil went out of his way to make sure that Clint had everything he could need, though he also did his best to not abuse his position of authority over Clint.

"So where exactly are we in relation to our final destination, Boss?" Clint asked around a mouthful of donut.

"Chew before you talk, Clint," Phil scolded fondly before he answered with a shrug. "A few hours out, I think."

"Want me to drive for a bit?" Clint offered.

Phil glanced over at Clint in surprise, arching an eyebrow in disbelief. "Can you drive?" he asked, clearly expecting a negative answer. "I've never seen you work any sort of vehicle except the quinjets."

"Is that a shot at my unconventional education?" Clint scoffed, rolling his eyes at Phil. "I mean, I don't technically have a driver's license, but I can drive."

The look on Phil's face could only be described as horrified amusement. "You expect me to break a law to let you make my life a little easier?" he demanded in a flat tone.

"Well, isn't that part of being a SHIELD agent?" Clint retorted with a snort. "C'mon, Phil. You've been driving nonstop for almost twenty-four hours to get us to New Mexico from New York."

"Nice try, Barton," Phil scoffed, shaking his head with a smile. "You're not getting behind the wheel of a company car if I have anything to say about it."

Making a face at Phil, Clint shrugged and eased his car seat back. "Just saying, Boss. You'll regret it when you're living off of caffeine injections to keep you going."

Phil actually _snorted_ at that. Clint could count on one hand the number of times he had heard Phil unbend enough to snort in amusement at anything. Grinning in triumph at this small victory, Clint watched Phil closely.

"The day that happens is the day I asked to be euthanized, Clint," Phil drawled, smiling ever so slightly over at the archer. "And I think that theory about me being a robot is pretty close to the truth, since I need so little sleep compared to other people."

This time it was Clint who snorted loudly, though that was more because he was choking on his latest bite of donut. Coughing harshly to try and clear his windpipe, Clint stared at Phil in shock. "You-- _hack, wheeze, cough_ \--you _know_ about that theory?!" he demanded between choking and trying to regain his ability to breathe.

"You can blame Natasha for my knowing about it," Phil replied, calmly reaching over to thump Clint on the back. "She told me in amusement, asking if it was true that I had metal insides and if it got in the way of our…relationship," he explained, his ears turning slightly pink as he admitted the last bit.

"Remind me to fucking _kill_ Natasha for that," Clint wheezed as he finally cleared his throat of donut.

"I thought that you refusing to kill her in the first place was why you and I even got together," Phil chuckled, rubbing Clint's shoulder lightly before returning his hand to the steering wheel.

"That doesn't mean I'm not gonna kill her for telling you about the robot theory," Clint retorted, rubbing his chest idly and making a face. "That was just uncalled for."

"If you say so," Phil replied blandly, barely containing a highly amused smile.

"Bite me," Clint grumbled.

"I can't while I'm driving. Rain check?"

****************

New Mexico was not exactly the sort of place that Clint felt particularly comfortable in. It was too open, with too few trees or even high cliffs for him to hide in and get a good view of the surrounding world. He preferred places like cities where there were skyscrapers, jungles with thick trees, or even mountainous regions with deadly cliffs and drop offs. At least there he could hide himself away from the sight of anyone else while still keeping his eyes on the surrounding world. 

"Why do we never get posted somewhere with a useful place for me to perch?" Clint whined as Phil pulled the car up just beyond the crater that had drawn SHIELD's attention in the first place. "I can't hide or keep an eye on anything here."

"I feel your pain, Clint," Phil deadpanned. "But we go where SHIELD needs us to. Next time, I promise I'll ask to have you put somewhere you can keep an eye on things from a distance."

"You better," Clint grumbled to himself.

Adjusting his sunglasses over his eyes, the archer settled more comfortably in his seat in the car, not bothering with a seat belt and adjusting the air conditioning to blast directly into his face. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the way Phil rolled his eyes in disapproval, but he could care less right about now. He was going to be the petulant child right now and he didn't regret it one bit.

"So what exactly is supposed to be down there?"

"That's what we're here to find out," Phil said, parking the car easily and slowly unbuckling his seat belt. "Want to get a look for yourself?"

"I'll see it when it comes out on DVD," Clint snarked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. "Just wake me up if it blows anything up, mkay?"

Phil shook his head in mingled affection and frustration as he slowly slipped out of the car, shutting the door firmly behind him. As much as he enjoyed being both handler and significant other to Clint Barton, there were times when it was more like he was a glorified babysitter for the specialist than anything else. Not that he regretted it, of course. Clint was, without question, one of the best things that had ever happened to Phil. Childish and sometimes impossible to deal with, yes, but he was still the one thing that had remained consistent in Phil's hectic existence as a SHIELD operative since they were first assigned to work together.

Below where Phil stood on the edge of the crater, he could see a crowd had gathered around the strange item that had fallen from the sky. He couldn't make out anything more than a vague shape from where he stood--partly because of the blinding glare of the sun against the desert sand, sunglasses notwithstanding--but he could practically _feel_ the thrum of energy that seemed to pulse from the object in question. Even if it wasn't anything lethal, it was definitely something that SHIELD would be more than a little interested in. Turning away from the crater to pull out his cell phone, Phil pressed the speed dial for Fury's office and held the phone to his ear.

"Sir?" he said slowly when he heard the gruff voice of his superior on the other end. "We've found it."

****************

One thing that could definitely be said in favor of SHIELD was that it was a very efficient agency. Clint leaned against the wall of the makeshift laboratory that had been set up around the offending "meteor", watching the various specialists, security, and agents milling around like worker ants. The only reason he was here at all was to act as security, and even then it seemed kind of unnecessary to him. After all, he knew he was most effective when he was acting as a lookout or something similar, where he could take out a target from a distance. Of course, he probably would have insisted on coming along anyway, since Phil had been assigned here. 

"The things I do to get laid," Clint grumbled under his breath.

 _If only Nat were assigned here too_ , he thought with a wry smile. _At least then it wouldn't be so damned boring here_.

That was a fairly accurate enough statement, too. Despite how often they might bicker--some of the other SHIELD agents described it as watching an old married couple squabbling--Clint and Natasha had grown remarkably close after she had defected five years ago. She had helped him practice his admittedly rusty Russian, and he had taught her ASL, which he had also taught Phil after his handler had learned about Clint's hearing aid in his left ear. 

Thankfully neither Natasha nor Phil had ever treated Clint as though he was less capable as an agent because of his partial deafness, which had been his biggest fear about telling either of them. If they _had_ treated him any different after learning about it, he would probably have closed himself off to both of them.

"Storm's coming," one of the other security specialists noted from somewhere in the vicinity of Clint's elbow. 

Glancing up at the darkening sky, Clint had to agree with the other agent. Thick dark clouds were starting to circle around the New Mexican desert, the center of it all seeming to be directly over the SHIELD camp. Even though he had seen a lot of pretty fucked up weather in his time working for SHIELD, Clint had a feeling that this storm was somehow different. He couldn't explain the feeling, but something in the air made the hair on the back of his neck rise up, and he had the feeling that he was going to be called into action soon.

"Guess so," he commented idly in order to let the other agent think that he was actually listening. "Just hope we don't get too wet."

The other agent laughed wryly at this, walking off and leaving Clint to his thoughts, which he was grateful for. Much as he enjoyed working with SHIELD, Clint had never been what one could call a "people person". It probably came from having a bad history with trusting anyone else, though thankfully that was starting to change with his relationship with Phil.

Suddenly, every radio in the camp came alive as an alarm went off. Someone had breached the perimeter. 

_Finally!_ Clint thought in relief, standing up straight and pressing his hand against his ear piece to better hear what was going on. Just outside, thunder rumbled in the air and lightning flashed as the rain finally began to fall.

"I need eyes up high," Clint heard Phil's voice over the radio. "With a gun."

Turning smoothly, Clint made his way to the makeshift armory, his hands pausing on the sniper rifle that was closest to him before he smirked and snatched up the bow that just seemed more comfortable to him. With his weapon of choice in hand, Clint rushed out into the rain, leaping into a small boxlike cage on the end of a crane and motioning for the driver to lift him into the air. It wasn't as good of a spot as being on top of a skyscraper or hiding out in a tree, but it would do for now.

"I'm in place, Boss," he informed Phil over the radio as he took his spot, looking down at the camp below to try and locate the intruder.

It wasn't an easy task, of course, given the fact that most of the disturbance was now within the white plastic walls that had been hastily set up when SHIELD's specialists came in. Then again, Clint had never liked any task that was too easy for him.

"Barton?" Phil's voice crackled in his earpiece. "What've you got?"

Setting an arrow into place and slowly drawing back the bowstring, Clint's eyes flicked around until he noticed where most of the SHIELD agents' shadows seemed to be congregating. A large, hulking shadow in the center of the mass that could only be the security specialists moved deftly to dodge and strike against the attacking SHIELD representatives. Clint couldn't help but be impressed by the intruder's expertise.

"Want me to slow him down, sir?" he asked Phil calmly. "Or are you sending more guys for him to beat up?"

He couldn't help the smirk that crossed his lips as he said this. Really, how could he even help asking the question to begin with? As well trained as the SHIELD operatives were, this strange shadow was cutting through them like a hot knife through butter. It was, if Clint was perfectly honest, fucking hilarious to see.

"I'll let you know," Phil deadpanned on the other end.

Clint could hear the growing frustration in his handler's voice, even though Phil managed to keep it steady and not sound like everything was starting to go completely TARFU on them all. Just then, his attention was drawn outside as two figures broke through the plastic of the shelter. One of them was dressed in SHIELD uniform, so that was obviously not the intruder. The other one was a complete stranger to Clint. Even in the darkness and the pouring rain Clint could make out shaggy golden hair and a well-trimmed beard as the stranger stumbled through the mud, wrestling with and beating at the SHIELD operative. 

Carefully adjusting his sight, Clint let his bow follow the movements of the two combatants, unable to be anything but impressed as the blonde stranger leapt into the air and slammed both his feet into the chest of his attacker before calmly kicking him in the jaw, knocking him out. Clint had only ever seen Natasha take out a target that efficiently before, and this guy looked like he was a hell of a lot tougher than Nat.

Not only that, but for some reason this guy didn't seem to _want_ to hurt anyone. He'd only taken out the SHIELD operatives that directly attacked him and got in the way of him getting to the strange hammer-thing that was in the center of the camp. Clint considered all of this as he kept his arrow trained on the intruder. Maybe this guy wasn't a threat to SHIELD itself. After all, he wasn't actively taking out anyone in particular, and even the agents he had neutralized were already being seen to and didn't seem to be truly hurt. Not even the last one that the intruder had kicked seemed to be anything but stunned, as he was already starting to stir in the mud.

"You better call it, Coulson," Clint said through the radio. "Because I'm starting to root for this guy."

On the other end of the radio, Phil froze as he heard this declaration. Clint had only ever said that phrase once before, in reference to Natasha, and since then the two of them had come to the understanding that if Clint ever said it again, it would probably be a good idea to listen. Stepping out into the rain just beyond the crater with the hammer in its center, Phil stared down at the blonde man who had just ripped through his security like it was damp toilet paper. 

When there was no answer from Phil, Clint drew back the string of his bow a little more, his eyes fixed on the perfect spot to injure and stop the intruder. "Last chance, sir," he said tensely, his tone full of questioning and warning all at once.

That decided Phil more than anything else. The only times Clint ever bothered to call him sir were when he was really serious. If Clint's gut told him that this man wasn't as big of a threat as they had suspected, then Phil was willing to see what happened.

"Wait," he said quietly. "I wanna see this."

Everyone who was near the crater watched with baited breath as the strange man slowly took hold of the handle of the war hammer and pulled. But nothing happened, which seemed to shock the man more than anything. He continued to tug without any luck for several moments before he released the hammer, looking up at the sky and letting out a cry of heartfelt agony. Clint barely suppressed a wince as he heard that wordless shout of defeat, his eyes flickering towards his now-soaked handler, who was watching the whole thing without any emotion showing on his face.

"All right, show's over," Phil said calmly into the radio as several security specialists made their way towards the intruder. "Ground units move in."

Easing his bow string away from his face, Clint watched as the intruder was handcuffed, idly placing the arrow he had been keeping at the ready back in the quiver and motioning for the crane to lower him down to the ground again.

"Phil?" he said quietly over the radio as he leapt to the ground.

"What is it, Clint?"

"What the hell just happened there?"

"I have no idea," Phil replied with a sigh. "But I think you were right to tell me what you did. He didn't seem interested in us, just the hammer."

"Guess my gut has good instincts, Boss," Clint said with a half smile. "You look soaked. Better head in and get dried off."

"Same to you, Barton."

"I'll be there in five."


	3. Waking Up

When Phil woke up to find himself in a hospital bed, he wasn't entirely surprised. What did surprise him was the fact that Clint sat perched on top of a table against the opposite wall, wearing dark sunglasses over his eyes and hugging his knees to his chest. The last time Phil had seen Clint so openly vulnerable had been after the Budapest mission that had resulted in both of them nearly dying along with Natasha.

"Clint?" Phil asked weakly, though it came out more as a croak than anything else.

In an instant, Clint was upright and standing beside Phil, offering him a glass of water as he eased Phil into a sitting position. "Just take it easy, boss," he murmured gently, pressing a kiss to Phil's forehead. "You gave us all a big scare, dying like that."

Phil drank the water that Clint gave him greedily, his throat suddenly feeling remarkably parched. Once he had drained the glass, Clint wordlessly refilled it and silently pressed it back into Phil's hands. The unspoken command was clear, and Phil was not about to go against it. Clint didn't seem satisfied until Phil had drained four glasses of water, and even then his expression was tight. He had pushed the sunglasses up his forehead to perch on top of his head, and his eyes were full of warring emotions that he tried to keep from showing in his expression. One emotion did manage to push its way beyond Clint's self control, however, and that was relief.

"Sorry about the scare," Phil managed to say, his voice sounding a little stronger now that his throat was not as dry as the Sahara. "I didn't have a lot of time to make a plan."

"Natasha's been standing guard over you when I couldn't," Clint replied, almost as though he hadn't heard Phil's apology. "Fury hasn't been able to pull either of us away from you."

A pang of guilt mingled with affection and gratitude shot through Phil's entire body as he looked up at Clint. He had always known that he cared for his two assets, and even that he was in serious danger of falling in love with Clint. Even with that knowledge, something about this admission on Clint's part made Phil's eyes sting with unshed tears and his heart fill to bursting with adoration. He would have to remember to thank Natasha with something special, but right now he was more concerned with the archer standing over him.

"You haven't left my side at all?" he croaked weakly, his throat suddenly growing tight with emotions.

"Someone had to make sure you woke up," Clint retorted, trying desperately to sound nonchalant. "Natasha almost twisted Fury's arm off when he told us that you were still alive."

Phil barked a harsh laugh. He could easily imagine the Black Widow doing something of the sort to the director of SHIELD. Despite the rocky beginnings to her time working for SHIELD, Natasha had become well-liked and at home among the various agents and specialists. That did not mean that she always agreed with the director's methods of handling various situations, of course. If she was anything, Natasha was still a very strong-willed woman who allowed those around her to know of her disapproval whenever they did something she found distasteful. Her history as a spy and assassin, first for the Soviets and then for whoever could afford her prices, meant that not much repulsed her in these days, but clearly keeping the fact that her handler was alive and well did just that.

"I hope the director got out of that one mostly unscathed?" Phil asked with a slight quirk of his lips.

"Mostly," Clint agreed, his own mouth twitching in amusement. "He'll be limping for another few weeks or so, but he'll live. Not even Hill felt up to reprimanding Tash for that one."

"Well, she does enjoy being on Natasha's good side," Phil shrugged, wincing as the action pulled at the stitches in his chest and back. "Oh, right…hole in the back."

"And the chest," Clint informed him flatly. There was something about the tension in Clint's voice that made Phil wonder how long it had taken Clint to accept just how severely injured his handler was. "You shouldn't even be alive, the doctor's say. It's a miracle you made it through surgery."

"Mother always said I was special," Phil deadpanned, hoping to snap Clint out of this dark mood.

Judging from the pained look in Clint's eyes, he didn't have much success.

"I almost lost you, Phil," Clint whispered hoarsely, his voice raw with sorrow and a pain he had clearly been hiding from the rest of the world for as long as Phil had been unconscious. "If I had…I don't know what I would've done."

"Clint," Phil murmured, reaching up to touch Clint's cheek, ignoring the painful tug of his stitches as he did so. "You didn't lose me, though. I'm still in one piece."

"Barely," Clint retorted, pressing his hand over Phil's. "You _were_ dead for a little bit, before the doctors snapped you back."

To Phil's surprise, he felt hot tears run down Clint's cheek, over his fingers. Even after Budapest, when all of them had been nearly broken and injured in one way or another, he had never seen Clint cry. Knowing that this had been able to send the tough archer over the edge, emotionally, when no other deadly mission had done so before made Phil's chest and throat constrict painfully.

"But you didn't lose me," he informed Clint in a hoarse voice. "I'm going to be just fine."

"Do you realize how close you came to being paralyzed?" Clint snapped. "If that staff had gotten you just a _centimeter_ away from where it hit--God, Phil!" he choked, falling to his knees beside Phil's bed. "I couldn't even fight off his control over me, and it nearly cost you your life."

With a slight wince, Phil adjusted himself so that he could lean over and touch Clint's cheek, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. He kept his own expression bland and hopefully soothing--something he had trained himself to do decades before when he first entered the world of SHIELD--softly running a thumb over Clint's cheek.

"Look at me," he said in a firm, but still loving voice. "I'm going to be _fine_. Nothing that happened to me was caused by anything you did, Clint Barton, and I don't want to hear you blaming yourself again. Is that clear?"

For a moment, Clint looked like he might actually argue with Phil about this, but after carefully considering his next words, he decided against it. "Yes, sir," he grumbled, leaning into Phil's touch. "Does this mean I'm not allowed to kick Loki's skinny Asgardian ass for what he did?"

"I don't want you to risk more than you need to over a half-assed revenge attempt," Phil retorted sternly. "Loki made mistakes, but we all have. You remember the things you did before you joined SHIELD; the things Natasha did. Loki was just another lost soul."

Clint stared at Phil in obvious shock, clearly trying to understand how Phil could have come to such a conclusion as that. "Phil," he frowned. "Phil, he was willing to _kill_ you, and destroy our planet just to get back at his brother. How is that 'just another lost soul' that could be saved? At least Natasha didn't _like_ most of what she had to do before we found her. Loki got a sick pleasure out of each thing he did."

"Barton," Phil said, his expression unreadable. "I love you, and you are the best damn specialist I've ever had the honor to work with, but you are being a child about this. I trusted your instincts on Natasha and Thor, so now I want you to trust mine about Loki."

For nearly a full two minutes, the two men met one another's eyes without flinching. A silent battle of wills raged between them until Clint finally looked down, resting his forehead against Phil's hand--the one that _wasn't_ attached to any medical apparatus, thankfully.

"You don't have to be such a fucking asshole about it, you know," Clint grumbled, squeezing Phil's hand tightly.

"Well, given how often you're an asshole to me about things, I think I've earned a right to hold _something_ over you," Phil retorted. "Besides, I just had a near-death experience. Aren't you supposed to be nice to me about this?"

"I brought you a balloon," Clint said, his tone very offended.

Looking up past Clint's head, Phil saw that his archer had indeed brought him a balloon. It was a rather gaudy looking thing, bright green with vividly yellow letters that demanded he **GET WELL SOON**.

"I think I'd rather have flowers," he deadpanned, idly lacing his fingers with Clint's. "Though maybe you should let Natasha pick those out. At least she's not colorblind."

"You are so lucky you're in a hospital bed right now, boss," Clint scoffed, resting his head against Phil's thigh and managing a slight smile up at him. "Because I can't punch you for being a smartass when you're hooked up to a heart monitor; the nurse might just castrate me for it."

They quieted down a little after that, both of them just relieved to have the other nearby. Phil would heal soon, and then they could go back to normal, or as normal as things ever got for them. With time, Clint might even learn to trust Phil's assessment of Loki wholeheartedly and forgive the alien for what he had done. Phil wasn't sure how long _that_ would take, but right now he was just glad that he had Clint in the same room as him.

Sometimes, just being with the man you love was the best sort of medicine.


End file.
